Memories From Camp Oswego: Day 2© John Manuele
May 1, 2001
When I woke up the next morning sprawled out on a sleeping bag next to our tent, there was a fuzzy recollection that the past twenty-four hours had been quite overwhelming. Walking to the disgusting Porta-potty I could see a line of cars winding far off into the horizon inching closer to the admittance gate. From the tents I could hear random Grateful Dead shows playing. Off in the distance people were standing in line to clean themselves with the all too precious and rare water. I even spotted a token naked girl walking through the lot, oblivious to the attention that her firm body was receiving.
Once I could recapture my wits I was outwardly beaming to the surprise of Steve, who himself was rather groggy and docile well into the afternoon. Phish would be taking the stage in close to six hours. He was content to sit and drink a few beers but there was little I could do that presented the proper diversion. In the afternoon he was feeling more limber. The conversation with the people camped next to us exhausted our attention, and we took a walk. We made it over to the central location. Nearby was the second stage, where we had been a night earlier. Still we hadn’t stopped to investigate this area too well. In many ways it served as the Central Business District, of this fortified 70,000 strong community of self made refugees. There were food stands that served overpriced meals, a general store that dispensed water for four dollars a bottle, and a play area. This had a large Ferris-Wheel , Teepees to hide from the sun, and treats for the eyes (For example giant sticks protruding from the ground which had what looked like a 15pound marsh-mellow attached to the end. In the hour or so we spent there, we mainly just took a seat and relaxed. I met up with some friends and ate some quirky mid-eastern concoction that was tasty albeit saturated with hummus.
When the time on my watch matched the time for entrance on the ticket we walked past a light security contingent and into the stage venue. Once inside we found a spot near the recording equipment. It was a little ways back from the stage but a nice spot none-the-less. Steve began stiking up a conversation with a head next to us. I was so eager that my attention to them sometimes bordered on catatonic. Still, when I would actually concentrate I caught something about the guy being from DC. He talked briefly about how the cop contingent was especially nasty at a show down south earlier in the tour. He also mentioned how he was going to be going to some breakaway province of the former Soviet Empire via the merchant marines in a few weeks. The conversation abruptly died however, when people all around us began to rise in unison. I stood to see the foursome from Vermont donning their instruments on stage.
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